“Whoever used the milk in the small plastic container that was in the refrigerator yesterday, please do not own up to it. I would find it forever after difficult to meet your gaze across a cafeteria table whilst having a discussion about Java applets or brand identity.
Just be aware that the milk was expressly for my baby, if you get my drift. I will label these things from now on, but if your coffee tasted just a little bit unusual this morning, you might think about calling your mom and telling her you love her.”
My husband brought our three young children down the long hall of the maternity ward, pausing to let them wave in each doorway at the new mothers cuddling bundles. At my room, he beckoned them in and introduced them to their new brother.
Five-year-old Katrina gingerly played with the baby’s thick red hair that the nurse had brushed and oiled into a fat top curl. She inspected his little feet, admired his tiny ears, and planted kisses on his dimpled elbow. But her coos stopped short at his wrist.
Drawing back, she pointed at the identification bracelet and frowned, “Look, Mommy. They left the price tag on!”
Bernard, who is noted for his gracious manners, was awakened one morning at four forty four a.m. by his ringing telephone. . .
“Your dog’s barking, and it’s keeping me awake,” said an angry voice.
Bernard thanked the caller and politely asked his name and number before hanging up.
The next morning at precisely four forty four a.m., Bernard called his neighbor back . . .
“Good morning, Mr. Williams…. Just called to say that I don’t *have* a dog.”
Two men were talking. One says to the other, “My wife drives like lightning.”
His friend asked, “She drives fast?”
“No, she hits trees.”